


Light as a Wing

by yeahwrite



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Field of Flowers, M/M, Memories, Minor, Necroworld, Trauma, just a major theme, the death is past though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 05:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16988589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahwrite/pseuds/yeahwrite
Summary: In the fields of the Necroworld, Drift sees a familiar face.





	Light as a Wing

**Author's Note:**

> First of all I'd like to give massive credit to Tumblr user Kurxo!  
> They kindly gave me permission to write this fic version of one of their comics! Dialogue draws verbatim from that in most bits.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading!

Drift wasn’t quite sure when he’d came out here.

Made his way back out into the blue meadows of the necroworld.

But here he was all the same.

With an immense, unshakeable and uneasy feeling that there was something he had to see.

The question was – what?

Hand drifted to one of his swords as he looked around, trying to focus in on and decipher this feeling.

It didn’t feel like a danger.

Like a bad feeling.

It was just- a feeling.

One he didn’t want to simply ignore.

He would rather trust his instincts.

And, if it did turn out to be bad, well…

Never would it be said, that this mech couldn’t handle a good fight.

So, he let his pedes take him to where he felt he needed to go.

Through the meadow, great sword thrumming softly on his back.

He attempted to make haste at this, as he’d have to get back to the rest of the crew sooner rather than later.

Now, with everything that had happened in mind, _wasn’t_ the time to leave them.

But-

He stopped, head jerking up to attention, stance stiffening.

Someone was there.

A figure, white and red, in the distance.

It-

Drift’s spark made a sharp, painful twist at this, as his stoic face momentarily dropped slightly…

...But then it solidified again.

_No._

It couldn’t be. Spiritual as Drift was- no, he wished it could be, but it couldn’t be.

Primus wouldn’t ever give him something like this. Not after everything that he’d already done.

It _had_ to be someone else.

They were far away. It was hard to tell what they looked like.

He couldn’t base such…he needed to get closer.

Legs started moving once again, even faster, fists clenching in resolve.

He would see who this interloper was.

If they were friend, he could take them back to the rest.

And if they were a foe…well. That would be even faster to deal with, for an ex-decepticon who carried several swords.

He would handle whoever this was and whoever they were, they certainly _weren’t-_

“So, you’ve finally came to see me.”

A familiar wonderful smile on a familiar wonderful face of a familiar wonderful mech.

_-Wing._

This time, his spark didn’t have a painful twist.

Nor did, his face drop slightly.

This time, his face completely fell and it felt like his spark had been ripped out of his chassis entirely.

“No…it can’t be.”

He couldn’t be real.

He knew this. He’d seen Wing die. He hadn’t been able to save him.

And he- this had to be a dream.

He’d had…he’d had dreams with Wing before.

Since he’d lost him.

This _had_ to be like that.

This wasn’t real.

He’d…he’d _tried_ to see before if he could find the real Wing.

Meditated and _focused_ in on a sword that had once been bonded to his lover’s spark in the hopes of finding something of him left.

He…he couldn’t ever quite be sure if the results of those attempts were real and not some sort of imagination of a desperate mind, looking for company.

Once upon a time, he liked to assume the former but by now…well.

Again, that was a novelty.

Primus would give him no such blessing for the sake of only himself.

The latter it was.

And this one was no exception.

And it felt tremendously _cruel_ that of all visions he’d seen, including of horrible things such as sparkeaters in the sky- _this_ was what he couldn’t believe in as real?

It…

…

…But it _felt_ real.

And Drift found himself running over to finish those last steps, petals flying out around him and flying through the wind as he did.

Stopping only when he was right there, right in front of him.

Pausing.

Just for a klik.

And then he realised…he could feel Wing’s EM field, see his aura, sense in his very spark the shared connection the two had between the sword.

All too tangible things, for this to just be some simple sort of mirage.

Meaning it had to be-

And just like that, all self-control was gone.

The mech fell to his knees and pulled the other into a hug, burying his face into a shoulder.

 “Wing I’ve been meaning to find you - _somewhere.”_ He choked out, hugging even tighter, fearing that if he loosened his grip for even a moment, this would all disappear.

This had to be the sword. It had to be. He wasn’t sure how, so he didn’t know when he’d been able to do it again, but this had to be that.

He’d finally found him.

He’d finally found _Wing._

“There’s so much I want to tell you. Since you’ve been gone.”

So, _so_ much.

Such as, he had to know about-

 _-Well,_ he’d tell him about all that in a moment.

But there was one other thing, he had to say to him first.

Something that had eaten away at him since the Circle.

Gnawing away and away and away at his very spark.

A bitter regret.

“Most of all, I wanted to tell you how _sorry_ I am.”

Wing moved back then, much to Drift’s confusion, before lightly placing a finger over his frown.

_“Ssssh.”_

Then leaning over, he started whispering softly into his audial, his oh-so-posh accent he’d once mocked him for, ringing in them as clear as a bell.

“I know. I know. There must be so much you’ve been dying to tell me. However, I don’t want to hear anymore unless it’s from _my_ Drift.”

Confusion heightened.

“But, Wing I’m right here-”

A fact he reiterated by shuttering his optics and leaning up for a kiss.

Wing’s hands cupped around his face at this, shifting him in even closer.

And it was _wonderful._

He wanted the moment to last as long as was possible.

But then…he felt _different._

And…there was something wet.

Something slick, dripping down, between them, at first only a slight bit he could barely notice. But then there was more and more of it, until it felt like it was gushing out.

Covering his frame, overflowing into his mouth- wait. He _recognised_ that taste.

_Something was wrong._

Drift’s optics snapped open, as he lurched back.

He’d intended to say something.

Perhaps as mundane as a - _Wing, what’s wrong?_

But any words he might have said died quickly in his vocorder, as soon as he saw the actual mech himself again.

_Energon._

It had been _energon_ dripping onto him.

Dripping onto him from Wing.

Wing, coated in pink, smeared all over, a steady flow coming from optics and mouth.

And a gushing flow coming from…coming from a _gaping hole in his chest._

_Slaver, thrusting a spear into Wing’s chest. Drift too slow, too far away to help. He could only watch. Only watch with the knowledge that it was his fault, he’d brought these people to this place. He’d gotten him killed._

Drift didn’t want to watch this time.

Horror almost as visceral as that day once again in his spark and in his expression.

But he couldn’t look away.

Wing meanwhile, didn’t seem to realise something was wrong at all. Even now.

His face as happy and smiling as ever.

“Drift…I’ve missed you so much.”

Words continued to fail the ex-con.

Instead, he tried reach out for the mangled mech in front of him, only to see…

…His arm.

It was…

…He knew he’d felt different.

This was-

_He was Deadlock again._

An energon coated hand took his hand, as Wing moved back closer, this time tucking his head against Deadl- Drift’s shoulder, humming contentedly to himself.

“I’ve missed this so much.”

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Oh Primus, now Drift saw something else too. Something that he definitely hadn’t seen there before, behind Wing.

And he realised exactly who’s field of the dead that this was.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

“Even if you were the one who got me killed.”

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Standing tall and proud was _Deadlock’s statue._

 _Drift's_ statue.

_It was his statue._

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

* * *

 

Drift woke up immediately after that realisation hit him, all alone in the dark.

No Wing.

No anybody.

But he didn’t get up and leave the berth.

He should, he should go offer some help.

Support the others.

But, instead, the mech just sat up and put his helm in his hands.

And he stayed there like that for quite a while.

**Author's Note:**

> The mind in a dream is not a rational thing
> 
> Also: I didn't go into it too much here, but credit where it's due - Tumblr user Full-Autopsy has very good headcanons about how great swords work, which I ascribe to and some aspects of were alluded to a bit in here!


End file.
